The Life and Times of Bruce Smith: Vietnam and Beyond

By Bruce K Smith

The story of survival and courage. Written by a Vietnam veteran who served three tours of duty. Follow a journey of love, loss, and endurance from the threat of jail, to an armed conflict, and finally a happy home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AirMail Press
• Release date: Feb 2, 2024
• ISBN: 9781739750145

Book preview

One

Foundations

Thinking back to Elementary School, I was already learning about competition and my surroundings with my classmates.  Even when we were in class, everybody wanted to be the teacher's pet.  Most of us were just regular, everyday people.  There were a few rich kids, but most of us were regular kids with decent clothes, plenty of food, and a roof over our heads.  Dad usually was the breadwinner, while mom stayed home cooking and cleaning.   At recess, most of us wanted to be the best kickball player or get the best grade.  I found out, to my surprise, that I was pretty clever at all of my school studies, so I tried to help other students who were struggling.

In the early 60s, the majority of people were Caucasian, with Spanish, Mexican, and a few Asians.  There weren't many people yet in San Jose and no traffic jams.  My dad never told us to be Catholic or Protestant, but that he wanted us to grow up and choose our own way.  All he told me was whatever profession I decided to take, to be the best at it.  He told me most people didn't like what they did for a living.  He was in the war and fought in the Pacific on the Philippines Island.  Even to the day he died, he never talked about it.

In my first year of high school, I took what people call the jock classes.  I took radio, woodshop, and drafting.  I wanted to see what I might like to do for a living.  I took up basketball during my first couple of years because my older brother Eck was four years older than me.  He was captain of the Varsity Team four years in a row.  During my first couple of years, I met some guys who became my buddies.  Most of them were tough guys and ran the streets because they were trying to fit in.  All of us knew about cars and motorcycles.  Many of them never went out for sports because of their financial situation.  Most of us wore Levi's and white tee shirts or Pendleton jackets, and if you washed them too often, we got teased.  That's where the term greasers came from.  We called the wealthier kids the surfer boys because they had better clothes, houses, cars, and so forth.  I chose the kids that were the street kids to hang around.  We had our own code that made us family.  We didn't rat on each other or anybody else.  Although we were looked on as the bad boys in school, we were quite the opposite.  Once in a while, we got a hold of some beer and kept to ourselves.

I used to kick it in the garage with my dad.  That's where he taught me to use a slide rule and advanced math.  My dad was a good man, but when he told you something one time, that was it.  I borrowed his car one night and didn't gas it up.  The next day, he went to work and ran out of gas.  That's when he and I had our differences of opinion.  I was his firstborn, so he let me run the way I did. 

At least in our day, there were plenty of jobs for kids.  Most of us cut apricots or plums.  Back then, everybody had pocket change because the alley was full of orchards.  Myself, I like cars.  I mowed lawns, did yard work, tutored, and painted to make side money.  I rarely had to look into my books to do my homework and would help others with homework and book reports to make some side money.  My dad knew I could do anything for a living, but he was always upset that I chose to run with a bunch of wild ones.  It never stopped me from hustling the way I did as a kid. 

My dad was an engineer.  He worked for Westing House and Lock-Keep Misses and Space as a draftsman.  He would work outside in the garage, which he used to make all his drawings on the big wooden table.  That's where he also showed me how to do calculus and trigonometry.  In my Junior year in high school, I asked the teacher if I could take a college entry-level math test.  He gave me it to try and said he would return to grade it in one hour.  When he returned, all he said to me was, How do you know this stuff, and who taught you? I obviously responded with, my dad. So when class started, he gave me his stick and said, Go ahead and see if you can teach these guys because you're one of them.  

One of our best times in the '60s was going to the Fairgrounds.  When we got there, we always ran into another gang.  After one such encounter, we left the fair and chased them down the freeway.  We were shooting at them with rifles and finally got them to pull over, but then the police showed up.  There were about six cops, and when they searched my car, they found I had my dad's samurai sword and his M-I carbine that he had brought back from the Philippines.  He took them off a Japanese soldier.  After court, my dad had to file a pile of legal documents to get them back.  No one pressed charges, and the judge gave us one year of probation.

Two

Running into Trouble

To us, the '60s were Happy Days.  We had Mels, Spiveys, and all kinds of other hamburger joints for something to do.  Most of the street kids hung out at Kings Drive-In.  They could be found at Five Spot, Mel's, or Tiny's, if not at King's.